Hold On Till May
by whats-crackalackin-homosexuals
Summary: Ryan was locked up, it wasn't his fault, nothing was his fault. His damn mother put him in here, around the age of ten. He wasn't crazy, well, not until he came here. So what happens when Ryan gets a new guard who is supposed to be watching his every move? Another messy crime scene, or can the boy break through? Ryden, Ryan RossxBrendon Urie, trigger warning.


There was silence once more, nothing but the sound of dripping water from the sink faucet. Only the dripping of water that kept driving him insane, but it kept the boy alive for the most part. Any other sound felt alien to his ears, not expecting to hear anything else except that damn dripping of water. Drip. Drip. Drip. His eye blinked every time the water droplets hit the dirty bottom of the sink. The bottom of the sink that was now covered in dark red, decorated in a special manner that only he knew. It started to smell, yes, but blood always smelled awful after a while. Drip. Drip. Drip. Anything from a human body smelled awful after a while, it was something he learned the hard way. It seemed he was always learning the hard way with everything in life, never seeming to catch a single break. His eye darted towards the door most of the time when he heard the rare footsteps down the hall, scared and dangerous all by himself. He always was. His parents were crazy even putting him in a place like this. Drip. Drip. The water was dropping more slowly, alerting the boy that it might just stop for good this time. He got up from the corner, scrawny chicken legs wobbling to the bathroom to see what was happening. His lanky, boney arms turned the knob slowly, seeing the flickering lights and the blood that painted the walls beautifully. An insane smile cracked his face, remembering that night he had a 'extreme makeover' with his one of the late guards that patrol the building nightly. He couldn't smell the stench from the rotten bathtub though, knowing that someone must if cleaned it out finally. It didn't bother him, he was getting tired of seeing and smelling the captain's dead, decaying body. The flies bothered him the most, knowing that they were going to be hard to get rid of. Drip. Drip. Drip. His eye focused on the bloody sink instead, his scared hand turning the knob just a little to get it dripping more constantly. Drip. Drip. Drip. Drip. Drip. Drip. He smiled, exiting the bathroom quickly to his dark, tiny bedroom. Only a small lightbulb that hanged from the middle of the ceiling lit the place, a long, metal chain for him to turn it off and on whenever he pleased. Or just to decorate his body with blood and open flesh wounds since it was so sharp on the sides. Either one really; it didn't matter to him anymore. His 'bedroom' wasn't that extravagant, a simple dirty, hard single bed, a half broken mirror, a bloody rug, some unexplainable unframed pictures he painted on the walls with his blood, just the normal stuff. He went to the mirror, half of the side broken for his 'personal' uses. His drained hazel eye locked with the reflection, the other having a white patch over it from getting it damaged in a fight he had trying to escape, his hollow pale skin clinging to his body, his shaggy, slightly curly, dark brown hair laid on his pointy shoulder, the plain, dirty gray hoodie he wore hung off of his body loosely, pants, that couldn't be seen, did the same. He tore his eye away from the horrid image, quickly going to his bed to wait for dinner. Only knowing he stored the utensils for plans he schemed up, and drinking his plain milk fully. The food? Sometimes he would eat it, most of the time he wouldn't. Not wanting to fill his stomach with the disgusting, fatty foods the guards tried to poison him with. He could hear the door open, the light slicing through the dark room quickly as a unknown figure walks into the room. Probably his new guard. which he already didn't like. He would have to find another way to kill this one. He could barely make out his features, huge brown eyes, short, brown bangs, and tan skin. He could also see the tiny name tag that was on his black hoodie: Brendon Urie. Why isn't he in uniform like the rest? Drip. Drip. Drip. Drip. Is he new? Brendon came up carefully, holding out the tray of food to him.

"R-Ryan?" Brendon's voice was uneasy, and Ryan could exactly understand why. Ryan was an insane teenager who was held in an insane kid's asylum. Who loved killing people slowly, letting them bleed out little by little. Ryan just stared at Brendon with his huge, hazel eye, not speaking or taking the tray. He stood up, Brendon quickly stepping back, and leaned closely to take a better look. His dark brown eyes held fear, white teeth chewing on his plush, huge pink lips; he had a complete baby face. Ryan looked down, his black hoodie hugging his tiny frame, sleeves pushed up to show a tattoo on his forearm. Looking down further, he saw his unbelievably tight skinny jeans that tucked into his black high tops. Drip. Drip. Drip. Ryan kept silent, looking back up with a deranged look in his eye, and took the tray slowly. "I-I'm Brendon.." he said, talking with a stutter slightly. Ryan was used to it by now, knowing people were afraid of him, and shaked and talked weird whenever they were in the same room. Ryan just sat on his bed, opening his milk without taking his eyes off of Brendon. He could sense that the boy was getting quite uncomfortable; perfectly normal. "I'm y-your new guard thingy.." Brendon mumbled, making Ryan cock his head. Guard thingy? "Uh, I-I have to watch over you, and spend time with you so you... S-So you don't go off the deep end." Ryan laughed loudly, he had to laugh, which made Brendon jump none of the less. Drip. Drip. Drip. When did Ryan need someone to spend time with him? Never. He didn't know what type of trick the therapists were trying to pull, but it wasn't going to work on Ryan. He drank his milk, licking his lips as he set it back on the tray. This was going to be interesting.

"Sit," was all that Ryan let slip through his lips. Brendon quickly complied without complaining, but sat up against the wall away from Ryan. He didn't care, he just drank his milk slowly, wondering about his new 'guard thingy.' Ryan put the milk back on the tray, seeing that they brought him a salad to eat, which made him happy to say at least. Drip. Drip. Drip. Ryan didn't talk much, only doing it to sing softly to himself or when he was forced to talk.

"I-I have to stay in here still you go to bed," Brendon mumbled, his legs criss cross. Ryan didn't speak then either, he didn't even nod to show Brendon he was listening. He was very uncommunicative with these people, knowing it would only lead to trouble. Drip. Drip. Drip. Drip. He was smarter than them, knowing way more. He knew their secrets, he knew stuff. He had to keep his secrets safe though, not knowing who could take them. That's why he didn't trust the guards or the staff. He just couldn't, it was too risky. Ryan opened the container to the salad, picking up the unused fork to pick at the green lettuce leaves covered in a white substance. He hoped to God it was just ranch. If it wasn't ranch he might just kill Brendon here and now, it didn't matter to him when he was going to die. Neither did Brendon know that Ryan was plotting his death at the moment, but there was a lot of stuff people didn't know. A lot of stuff that people shouldn't know, and Ryan liked to think of it that way. Drip. Drip. Drip. It was easier that way. Ryan took a bite, to Brendon's safety it was in fact ranch, and Ryan took another bite. You could feel the awkwardness in the air, it was so thick you could cut it with a knife. It made Ryan's skin crawl, and he wondered if it made Brendon's as well. "S-So," Brendon mumbled, trying to get Ryan to talk, "H-How long have you been in here?" he asked, making Ryan's eyebrows knit together. How long have I been here? Ryan started to panic, knowing that he couldn't of been here for long, his parents were supposed to pick him up on his sixteenth birthday. They promised, they wouldn't break a promise. At least not mommy.

"H-How old am I?" Ryan asked, looking up with worry in his eye. Brendon's eyebrows knitted together with that, as if he was trying to remember how old the tiny, pale boy was. Ryan started to freak a little, not liking the long silence. "How old am I?" he asked, voice more louder and wavy, as if he was trying not to cry. His throat felt hot and tight, and he wondered if he was past sixteen yet.

"Um, you're sixteen Ryan," Brendon said slowly, fumbling with his fingers nervously. Ryan could feel his heart skip a beat, it was this year. This year he would get picked back up by his parents, see his mother again. He missed his mother so much, and he wondered if she missed him as much, if not more. Oh my God. Ryan didn't know how to react he was so happy, and he just sighed happily to himself. "You're smiling," Brendon said, eyes slightly wide. Ryan quickly stopped, looking down in embarrassment.

"Sorry," he mumbled, looking down quickly as the smile vanished suddenly. He couldn't even remember the last time he smiled at all, it has been so long. He was still excited on the inside, maybe even nervous, but who wouldn't it be?

"It''s fine Ryan, don't worry about it," Brendon said softly, licking his dry bottom lip from the stale, dead air in the room. Ryan kept his head down, not wanting to lock eyes with Brendon anymore. He didn't want to risk smiling up at Brendon anymore.


End file.
